A Christmas Proposal
by HP-Forever-XX
Summary: Eight years after the original Yule Ball took place, Ron is still hung up on the fact that he never had the courage to ask Hermione to be his date. That Christmas Eve, in a plan of ultimate romance, he arranges a surprise reunion Yule Ball. But asking her to be his date is not the only big question he has planned...


**A Christmas Proposal**

"_More_ bacon?"

Ron was staring at the recipe book with a frown as he read aloud. He didn't understand how Muggle recipes worked, and he'd never cooked a thing in his life. Making breakfast for Hermione was only the first gesture in what was going to be an overwhelming day for them both—not that she was expecting it, of course. It was just an ordinary day.

Well, not exclusively ordinary, for it was actually Christmas Eve. But for Hermione Granger, it was just another day in her life. That is to say, she wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary.

Ronald Weasley, on the other hand, had never known such an exceptionally unordinary day. He had been nervous plenty of times in his life, as you'd expect from one who'd faced adventure and war at such a young age. But fighting dragons and Dementors, facing giants and monstrous spiders, even staring the Dark Lord himself in the eye—none of it came close to the nervousness he was feeling at the thought of the task ahead. For that night, he was planning to do the most terrifying thing he'd ever had to do in his whole life.

He was going to ask Hermione to marry him.

* * *

"Happy Christmas Eve!" Hermione said excitedly, bounding into the living room that morning, donning a festive Santa hat.

Rom slammed the lid of the ring box closed in alarm and slipped it into his pocket with lightning reflexes. His heart was pumping from nearly getting caught, but Hermione didn't appear to have seen.

She was as beautiful that morning as she had been every morning he'd gotten to spend with her over the past two years. Now at twenty-two, Ron had known he loved Hermione long before he'd first said the words, and known she was the girl he wanted to marry perhaps long before they'd even begun living together. This would be their second Christmas together, and he realised, with a thrilling sort of alarm, that this could well be the last Christmas they'd spend together as merely girlfriend and boyfriend.

And even though he got to see her every morning as the sun rose, sleep hanging on her lashes, hair wildly curly from having spent the night untamed, Ron never ceased to fall in love with Hermione over and over again. That morning was no different. Hair loose and free, the way he liked it, peeking out from the Santa hat, eyes glistening and bright, soft cheeks turned rosy from the slight winter chill, Ron had never been more certain that he was in love with her.

After burning the breakfast in the most horrendous way possible, Ron had abandoned all attempts at surprising her. Hopefully, what he had planned for the rest of the day would be surprise enough…

"Is everything alright?" Hermione asked, stopping suddenly, halfway into the room.

Ron blinked in surprise, having forgotten she'd even said anything. "Huh? Oh—yeah," he said quickly, hoping his face hadn't gone too red so as to give anything away.

"Your face has gone as red as your hair," Hermione teased.

Ron scowled. That hadn't gone well. "I'm fine," he assured her, trying to act as casual as possible, and likely acting even more suspicious than he had been before. "I, err, I was just… nice hat," he said weakly.

Hermione broke out into a broad smile nonetheless, and closed the distance between them, throwing her arms around his neck in a warm embrace.

Ron melted into it, ever so slightly beginning to relax. He had been planning this proposal for months now, with meticulous preparation and the involvement of a large number of people. If Hermione even so much as suspected what was going to happen tonight, all the magic would be lost. Ron was so close to pulling it off—everything needed to go smoothly.

"Why are you so tense?" Hermione asked affectionately, giving him a final squeeze.

Ron mumbled something incoherent, hoping she couldn't feel the ring box he'd hurriedly shoved into his pocket.

"Will this make you feel more relaxed?" Hermione asked in a low voice, letting a loose strand of hair fall forwards so that it gently tickled his cheek. She was going to kiss him; that much he could figure out.

"There's no mistletoe," Ron said stupidly, and then cursed at himself internally. Bloody hell, the stress of it all was getting to him.

Hermione let out an amused, and no doubt confused, snort, and kissed him anyway.

She was the cure magic couldn't give him, and with her lips softly pressed to his, inhaling that faint smell of vanilla that always radiated from her, the tension slipped from his body. Whatever happened tonight, whether it went to plan or not, whether she said yes or no, Ron couldn't have been happier with the life he'd already had with Hermione. He was just grateful for that moment, and all the moments he'd shared with her up until that point. He had never even thought he could be so lucky as to have experienced the delight and pure beauty of loving Hermione Granger, and being loved by her in return.

When she lowered herself from her tiptoes and pulled her lips away, her eyes were radiating love and her smile radiating warmth.

"Mistletoe…" Ron continued dazedly. "It's, y'know, supposed to be romantic and all that…"

Hermione unwound her arms from him but continued to smile up into his eyes with deep adoration. "Really, Ron, I've known you for years," she laughed, finally pulling away and adjusting her hat. "I honestly don't expect too much romance from you!"

Thankfully she'd turned away to admire the tree, or else she would have seen the sly, little smile that broke out onto her boyfriend's face, and heard him as he muttered under his breath, "You're in for a surprise tonight, then."

Ron, too, admired their Christmas tree. Hermione had somehow enchanted it so that snow continually fell down onto it, like icing sugar being sprinkled onto a cake, disappearing as it reached the carpet—all floating past the lights that twinkled in a vast array of colours. There were a few hand-wrapped gifts at the bottom of the tree, most of them belonging to Hermione. Ron had had to go easy that year, unsurprisingly. But Hermione would understand when she saw what all his hard work and money had gone into that night.

And, all of a sudden, Ron found his anticipation for that evening wasn't out of fear or nerves at all; now it was out of ecstatic delight. It was the sheer thrill of finally unveiling his masterpiece, and proving to Hermione, despite her casual teasing, that he could be the most romantically charming man the world had to offer.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, approaching the tree and noticing an envelope tucked into its branches. _Hermione_ was scrawled across the front in fancy writing. Ron had gotten Dean Thomas to do it—he was hopelessly unartistic himself, and besides, Hermione would have recognised his writing.

"A Christmas present, of sorts," Ron said slyly, unable to conceal his smile. "Don't worry, you can open it later."

"You mean tomorrow?"

"No, not this one. This one you have to open today."

Hermione gave him a questioning look and cocked her head. "Ronald Weasley," she said in an affectionately accusatory was, "what are you up to?"

"Oh, you'll see," Ron said, purposefully trying to be mysterious, knowing it would drive her mad. Hermione hated not knowing things, and, from her reaction and to his great delight, she didn't seem to have a clue what she was in for.

"Fine," she conceded, rolling her eyes. "But I'm going over to Harry and Ginny's now to—"

"No, you're not," Ron interrupted.

"I—what?"

"Nope," he said teasingly. "Well, you can, but they won't be there. They're busy today."

"But it's Christmas Eve!"

"Indeed."

"Ron!" Hermione said furiously, though there was laughter in her eyes. "What exactly is going on?"

Ron revelled in it. Merlin's beard, it was satisfying to see Hermione have such a complete lack of understanding for once. Is this what it felt like all the time for her whenever she was talking to him?

"Hmm, I can't really recall what it is that they're up to," Ron lied with such sarcasm Hermione _knew_ he was lying. If all was going to plan, Harry and Ginny, along with a whole team of all their closest friends, were setting up preparations for that evening. "But it doesn't matter anyway because you've got plans too."

"I have?" Hermione asked in astonishment. "Doing what, exactly?"

"My mother's taking you out."

"Your _mother?"_

"She's better at this kind of thing than I am," Ron explained. "And besides, I've got things to do myself." He gave her a teasing wink, which only infuriated her further.

"What _things_ are you doing? Why is your mother taking me out? What's in that envelope!?" Hermione demanded, halfway torn between looking ecstatically thrilled by Ron's elusiveness, and furious for not understanding what was happening.

"Hermione, my love," Ron said, trying to suppress laughter. "You seem tense. Do you want me to help you to relax?"

"No!" Hermione said furiously. "I want to know what's going on! And besides," she said with a mischievous glint in her eye, "there's no _mistletoe._"

But he kissed her anyway.

"All will be revealed," Ron told her mysteriously, speaking the words into her lips. "All will be revealed…"

* * *

Darkness had fallen upon England on that crisp, winter evening, along with a fresh coat of pure white snow. Ron was in the living room once more, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, dressed from head to toe in the most immaculate and expensive dress robes he'd ever worn in his life—not a frill in sight. He alternated between checking the ring was still in the box (and the box still in his pocket), checking the envelope was still safely tucked into the tree's branches, and making sure he was still actually _breathing_.

The door finally opened, and Hermione walked into the room.

Ron could feel the ring in his pocket, could see the envelope out of the corner of his eye, but of all the things he'd constantly been checking, he'd failed to do one. Because as Hermione walked into the room, Ron knew for certain that he most definitely was _not_ breathing. How could he, or any mortal man, look at the sight before him and _not_ be rendered breathless?

"You look…" he exhaled in awestruck wonder, "_beautiful_."

And she truly did. Not that she didn't constantly look beautiful, of course, but Hermione looked, that evening, like the very definition of beauty—like if a rose was a person, or if love was a vision. Ron had seen diamonds and pearls, endless meadows of flowers, waterfalls of clear, crystal water. He had seen their street outside, covered in a layer of fresh, undisturbed snow, as white as the clouds on a perfect summer day. And yet, Hermione Granger, as she stood in front of him in that very moment, was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen in his life.

She had chosen a satin dress in dusty pink to compliment her pale complexion and soft brown hair. Encrusted with silver diamante around the bust, the strapless bodice was tight-fitted to her hips; it angled down one side in an asymmetrical line with one large, satin rose sitting in the space where the bodice ended and the skirt began. The skirt part of the dress consisted of layers upon layers of ruffled net in the same dusty pink as the satin, emphasising her slim, delicate figure, and cascading down to the floor like a waterfall of fabric.

Her hair, whether it had been coordinated that way or was a sheer, delightful coincidence, was styled the exact same way it had been for the Yule Ball in their fourth year—an elegant up-do with twists and curls, pinned neatly in place with diamante pins that matched the dress. Ron had never forgotten what she'd looked like on that night. The details of what Hermione had looked like as she descended the stairs outside the Great Hall would forever be etched into the depths of his mind.

As would the vision of her when she'd entered the room just then.

Hermione blushed at his compliment, radiating the same love and warmth that Ron was too. "Thank you," she said breathlessly, letting her hands slide over the satin folds of her dress. Their eyes locked, and the twinkle he saw in them spoke more words of love than her lips ever could.

"Are you going to tell me," she asked with a sly smile, "why I've spent the entire day getting dressed up and all made up like I'm about to meet the Queen or something? And why my boyfriend, who is quite possibly dressed in the smartest clothes he's ever owned, has been acting mysteriously elusive all day, and is now stood before me with a look on his face like he's some excitable puppy?"

Ron let out a shy laugh. "Of course," he said softly.

_Deep breaths_. Okay, he thought to himself—the first big question of the night.

"Hermione," he said seriously, "do you remember Christmas seven—no, _eight_—years ago?"

He watched her cast her mind back, doing the calculations in her head.

"Our fourth year at Hogwarts?" Hermione asked uncertainly, and then realisation dawned. "Ah." She smiled knowingly. "The Yule Ball…"

It made Ron's palms sweat just to think back to that dreaded day. "Do you remember what a complete and utter idiot I was to you?" he continued. "And how I was sulky and argumentative the whole evening?"

"How could I forget?" Hermione laughed.

"I think about that day a lot." Ron fixed his eyes on her with a look he only hoped could convey the sincerity he wanted her to understand. "I've realised that with all we've been through—all the years at Hogwarts, the fighting, the arguments, the adventures—there is one thing, above all, that I truly regret. One thing that haunts me above all else."

Hermione said nothing, but her eyes urged him to go on.

"I don't think I'll ever quite be over the fact that I was_ so_ overwhelmingly proud and idiotic that I didn't ask you to the ball, and that I spent the whole evening in misery, loathing myself for not having the courage to have asked you, and loathing myself because even there, at the ball, I still wouldn't ask you to dance, even though there was nothing I've ever wanted to do more in my life."

Ron had never told anybody that before. He had never properly told anybody how hung up he'd been on the Yule Ball, even after eight years had passed. He could never forgive himself for the way he'd acted that night, bitterly lashing out at Hermione and Viktor, simply because he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage to ask the girl he loved to go to the ball with him. Even then, _especially_ then, he'd known he loved her.

"So," Ron sighed, letting the warmth seep back into his eyes and allowing a smile to break out, "Hermione Granger." He took both of her hands, so small and delicate and destined to fit into his own. "Will you be my date for the Yule Ball? It would, quite literally, make me the happiest man in the world."

A look of confused delight twinkled in Hermione's eyes. "But I—I don't understand? I mean… the ball? But the ball was…"

"You should probably open this now," Ron interrupted, reaching for the envelope that had been resting in the branches of their Christmas tree, dropping her hands in the process.

Hermione opened it with delicate fingers, her face lighting up as she read. "Miss Hermione Granger…" she murmured aloud, "cordially invited… Yule Ball… Christmas Eve… Hogwarts!?" She looked up at Ron, mouth open in utter surprise. "_Ron!_" she breathed.

"No questions," Ron said quickly, delighting in the enthralled look on her face. "But… an answer would be good," he said awkwardly.

Hermione blushed and let out a bashful laugh. "Of _course. _Oh, Ron, of course! Yes—Yes, I will go to the ball with you!"

Ron breathed out a long sigh of relief, not quite believing this was actually happening. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear those words!"

* * *

With Hermione's hand in his, and his heart racing wildly, Ron pushed open the doors to the Great Hall. He, himself, nearly gasped in amazement at the sight before them, even though he'd been helping set up all day. But it was Hermione's gasp of unadulterated wonder that commanded his attention. Everything was falling into place.

Hermione walked into the hall in a daze. This couldn't be real; this was surely a wonderful, magical dream! Never had she thought she'd walk through Hogwarts' grand doors into the Great Hall again, least of all with Ron's hand in hers as she accompanied him to the second Yule Ball they'd attended at the castle.

All of a sudden, she was fifteen years old again. The hall, to the finest detail, had been decorated to replicate the way it had looked at the Yule Ball those eight years ago. Mistletoe and icicle decorations lined the walls; great ice sculptures were arranged here and there. There was an array of crystal goblets, colourful drinks, and festive delicacies filling a long table. Everything was icy and glittery and _magical_.

"It's beautiful!" Hermione gasped, as Ron led her into the hall. And it wasn't even the painstaking detail Ron had gone to in order to decorate the room. Filling the hall, surrounding her with warm smiles and looks of excitement, were all their closest friends, many she hadn't seen since their Hogwarts days.

The entire Weasley family, Harry, of course, Neville, Luna, the Patil twins, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, Cho Chang and Lavender Brown, Katie Bell, Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson, Oliver Wood, Lee Jordan… There were people from Dumbledore's Army, the Gryffindor Quidditch team, all the various houses from their year group, and a few older or younger students… Even some of the Professors! McGonagall, of course, alongside Hagrid, Flitwick, Sprout, Slughorn…

Hermione found herself close to tears. It was like a reunion. It was like they were _all_ fifteen years old again, back in Hogwarts, the excitement of the Christmas ball filling their hearts with delight.

As they approached the middle of the hall, she turned to face Ron. To face the man who had made all of this come true. To face the man she loved with all her heart and more than anybody else in the world.

"You did all this for me?" Hermione choked out, trying not cry with how overwhelmed she was by his gesture.

Ron smiled that adoringly charming smile that she loved so much. "No," he said softly. "No, I did _this_ for me. I'm a selfish man, Hermione, and I couldn't bear the thought of never asking you to the Yule Ball."

She let out a light giggle.

"But there is… there's something else," Ron began nervously.

"What else could there possibly be?" Hermione laughed. "You have given me everything I've ever wanted, Ron. And not just tonight with the ball, but throughout our lives together. I love you more than anything," she said quietly.

"In that case," Ron said, nerves subsiding and instantly perking up "dance with me."

And she did.

Music was playing, people were chatting and laughing and dancing all around her, but Hermione only saw Ron, and he, her. "I can't believe you did all of this for me," she whispered in awe, nestling her head into his shoulder as they swayed to the slow music. "I think I'm falling in love with you all over again."

"I told you," Ron murmured back. "The ball was for me. My Christmas present for you is…" he trailed off bashfully, "far more valuable. At least, I hope it is."

"What is it?" Hermione asked, the two of them still swaying.

"A promise," Ron told her. "A promise to love you for the rest of my life, until we're old and grey and lying on our death beds. I've… never been good with words," he explained awkwardly, "especially when it comes to you. Just think of the mess I made of the first ball."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said firmly. "Look at the wonderful triumph of _this_ ball."

"It's not completely a triumph yet…"

"It's not?" she asked, finally lifting her head to look him in the eye.

"Like I said," Ron went on, trying not to get too lost in Hermione's eyes, "I've never been good with words. But… here goes." He took a deep breath. "I love you, Hermione. I love you more than I ever thought it possible to love a person. I can't say it was love at first sight," he admitted with a wicked grin, "I mean, you _were_ incredibly bossy, and I've never seen such bushy hair on a girl before, and—"

"Get to the point," Hermione ordered with mock fierceness.

Ron laughed. "Right. So maybe it wasn't love at first sight, and maybe I'm not entirely sure at what point I _did_ fall in love with you, but I do know this," he said, taking another breath. "I love you now, I've loved you for far longer than you've probably realised, and probably before _I_ even realised. And I'll love you for as long as I live. I honestly fall in love with you more every day, and I know that it will never fade. You're the one I love, Hermione, now and forever, forever and always."

Again, the twinkle in her eyes said more than any words that could pass from her lips. He only hoped his were doing the same.

"Ron," Hermione sighed, with the look of a girl hopelessly in love with the man in front of her.

"There were two important things I wanted to ask tonight," Ron said tenderly.

Hermione looked at him expectantly but said nothing in response.

"The first was asking the girl of my dreams to go to the Yule Ball with me. The second," Ron announced, a nervous hitch in his voice, "was asking the woman of my dreams to spend the rest of her life with me…"

Before Hermione could even register what was happening, Ron was on one knee, the ring box open in his palm.

"Hermione," he gulped, gazing up at her from the floor, "will you marry me?"

Silence had ensued throughout the room as they all watched with bated breath, the final piece of Ron's grand plan falling into place. He had never felt more self-conscious, but he'd never felt more certain in his whole life either.

"_Yes!"_ Hermione gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. "Yes, Ron, of course!"

There was a collective cheer from around the hall, almost so loud that it drowned out Ron's startled outburst of, "Bloody hell, really!?"

But the ring slid into place, and she was in his arms, and the whole room was spinning because _everything_ was wonderful, and for once he'd done everything right.

* * *

"What are you thinking about?" Hermione asked, having slipped out into the cool, winter had only been sat on the bench by the lake for about ten minutes, but Hermione had noticed his absence from the hall immediately. After hours of congratulations and chatting and hugging, it was nice for the two of them to finally be alone together. The moon was high in the sky, shining down upon the newly engaged couple, bathing them in silvery light.

Ron had only been sat on the bench by the lake for about ten minutes, but Hermione had noticed his absence from the hall immediately. After hours of congratulations and chatting and hugging, it was nice for the two of them to finally be alone together. The moon was high in the sky, shining down upon the newly engaged couple, bathing them in silvery light.

"I'm still trying to figure out how I got the most beautiful girl in the world to agree to marry me," Ron confessed light-heartedly, gazing out at the beauty of the still water.

Hermione settled down onto the bench next to him. "It doesn't seem all that surprising to me, really," she teased. "Not when you forced her into a situation with all her closest friends and family where it would be humiliating and degrading for her to have said _no."_

Ron looked at her sharply. "Wait!" he exclaimed, panic-stricken.

"Ron, I was joking!" Hermione assured him. But despite her laughter, he seemed stuck in a state of alarm. "_I love you!_" she insisted.

Ron relaxed only slightly.

"You seem tense," Hermione said, feeling playful. "Do you want me to help you relax?"

A smile played on Ron's lips. "But there's no mistletoe..."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and she kissed him anyway.

And it was then that the young couple truly realised the happiness they brought each other and the depths of their love. They had never been more in love. Up until that moment, the night had never been clearer. The moon had never been fuller. The stars had never shone brighter.

* * *

**Originally written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 2—Semi-Finals**

**Team: **Holyhead Harpies  
**Position: **Captain  
**Task: **Use the previous submitter's last line as your first line—"More bacon?" (followed on from AnnieBrodieSangster/Beater 1)


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